


and being here imprisoned

by alasweneverdo



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:06:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasweneverdo/pseuds/alasweneverdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordred isn't about to betray anyone. He knows where his loyalties lie, and they're not quite where Morgana thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and being here imprisoned

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inheritedjeans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inheritedjeans/gifts).



> Quick-and-dirty beta job done by Sschapstickk, after which I changed a ton of stuff—so what I'm saying is that all mistakes are mine. It should also be noted that the title is taken from (a possibly horrific misinterpretation of a poem by) E. E. Cummings: "and being here imprisoned,tortured here / love everywhere exploding maims and blinds".
> 
> And yes, I choose to live in a world where Kara doesn't exist.

Eyes crazed and intent, Morgana asks, "Has the time yet come, Mordred?"

Mordred's hand closes around one of his restraints. The metal is colder than ice, so frigid it leaves his skin feeling burnt. He doesn't flinch, only shakes his head at the ground, his expression devoid of affect.

"No," he says. "Not today."

In response she hums, as though she'd been expecting this. And she may well have been; he's given the same answer for weeks now, maybe longer. It's been so long since he's seen the sun or stars that he's lost track of time.

"When you're ready," she says. She strokes his tangled hair, all misplaced and mistimed affection—and then, quicker than the flutter of moth wings, she's gone.

When the outer door closes, he heaves out a long sigh. He tries not to let out too much air when she's around, fearing she'll drain his lungs and leave him empty. Breathing is all he can do now anyway, all he can control in his life.

Of course, there's the entirety of the barren cell open for his exploration. By now, though, he knows every detail of every corner, from the dust on the iron bars to the grime on the stone walls. A spider has taken up residence by the ceiling, and Mordred doesn't have the heart to tell it there are no flies here. There's just him and the shackles that grow heavier every day.

This is the longest he's been separated from the earth, easily. No sky above his head or soil beneath his boots; no rain dampening his skin as he marches onward. He misses the air and sun. He thinks the equinox might be approaching, but that could have been lifetimes ago.

Morgana will keep asking if he's ready to tell her all that he knows. One day she may tire of waiting for his cooperation, but for now she doesn't dare harm him. He can tell there's still love in her somewhere—a mother's love for a child, perhaps. Whatever it is, it will do.

"Today?" she asks, one small eternity later.

He shakes his head wordlessly, throat dry with thirst. He won't ask for more water, because the moment he asks for anything will be her chance to strike, to gain power over him and wreck these walls he's built.

"Why do you remain loyal to him, Mordred?"

Her voice is soft and holds no accusation, yet he knows better than to believe this facade. If she were as kind and sympathetic as she tries to appear, he wouldn't feel so sick with dread.

After a lengthy silence, it becomes clear that she expects an answer. He clears his throat. "Who else do I have to be loyal to? You?"

She lets out a surprised laugh, but the humor fades quickly to disappointment. "You and I are children of the Old Religion," she says. "Our bond runs thicker and deeper than blood. You owe no allegiance to a man who would have you burned alive."

"I have watched the king bring murderers and thieves to justice. Their offense is never just that they have done magic. Not that I've seen."

"Then you are _blind_ ," she hisses, her composure finally crumbling to fragments. The mask breaks, giving way to the madwoman underneath. "Your new station has corrupted your sense. Whatever Arthur has convinced you of, I can assure you: Every word is a lie."

"He isn't the one with a penchant for lies, Morgana."

Her eyes turn to slits, but only for a moment. Then she's smirking in the way that only dark things can, lips cracked and pale and wretched.

"Where is this king of yours, then? Has he left his favorite little soldier to waste away at the hands of the evil witch?" Her next words are barely a whisper, but he catches them without trouble: "Wasn't all his _love_ just a big, awful lie?"

She's wide-eyed and waiting for an answer again; he has none to give her, because he suspects they aren't talking about him anymore.

He doesn't know why Arthur forsook her, or whether that love between them is truly gone. He has no explanation for this woman, this would-be mother whose own family has cast her out. And if she wants empathy—if she wants him to tell her he knows what it's like to be deserted without a care—he can't offer it. He just shrugs.

"I don't know," he says. "But it's not Arthur I'm waiting for."

"Can't say I blame you."

They both turn, and Mordred thinks he probably mirrors Morgana's look of open-mouthed surprise as they spot Merlin, who's standing calmly outside the cell like he's been there all along.

"He's really a bit hopeless on his own," Merlin continues. "You've no idea how many times I've had to just go ahead and rescue _myself._ Great king, isn't it, who can't even navigate his way to the chamber pot."

"How did—?" Morgana begins, gaping. Then she straightens, her posture stiff and guarded. "You have magic."

"You have Mordred," he replies. His gaze flicks toward the Druid before settling back on Morgana.

She laughs. It's a short, sharp sound. "It's no use. The iron is immune to all magic."

"Right," he says slowly. "Which would be a problem if I planned on using any."

They're both looking at one another like they think their enemy is incredibly simple. "Then what," she says, "do you intend to do?"

He says nothing. In lieu of speech, he holds up a ring of old, tarnished keys, smirking triumphantly.

As Mordred leaves, the sound of Morgana's soul-tearing screams and the rattling of her chains almost makes him turn, but not quite.

He asks Merlin why they left her alive—because he's curious, not because he disagrees with the action. He finds it hard to care what happens to her.

"To show that I'm better," says Merlin. "And worse."

Something about him is terrible for just a moment, and Mordred is really, truly afraid. More terrified than he ever was with Morgana. He looks and sees Emrys, and in him the dark, angry void of eternity.

And then, as quickly as it came, it's passed. All that's left is Merlin: eyes the blue of sky, hair the brown-black of soil. The rain to Mordred's thirst and air for his lungs and sun on his skin. Like the equinox, a perfect balance of light and darkness.

"You're fine now," says Merlin—worriedly, questioningly. Hopefully.

Mordred knows he must look a sight, all gaunt and filthy and pale. It takes effort not to stumble when he walks, and he can't stop shivering and twitching. But he thinks if it were really all that bad, Merlin would be at least a tad more anxious; as it is, he's just looking at Mordred with his brow furrowed and lips pressed together.

"Of course," Mordred says at last. He offers Merlin a weak smile.

Merlin rests his forehead against Mordred's and closes his eyes. Whether it's to hold back tears or just savor the moment, Mordred has no idea. He keeps his own eyes open to make sure Merlin doesn't disappear, just in case.

There's a long, full silence that's nothing like the emptiness of the cell. Mordred breaks it by saying, "Didn't leave me to die this time."

Merlin pulls back and smiles at him. It's watery and strained. "Moved past that," he says.

When Merlin kisses him softly, Mordred thinks that yes, they have rather moved past that.

Ground beneath his feet once again, he breathes.


End file.
